


Bed of Roses

by Kamaro0917



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Song fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamaro0917/pseuds/Kamaro0917
Summary: Time waited for no one, and Fleur was out of time.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 24
Kudos: 78





	Bed of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a post on tumblr and well, here we are. I’m not sure why my 3am brain went here, but it did.
> 
> Song inspiration: ‘If I Die Young’ by The Band Perry

_“If I die young, bury me in satin...”_

Fleur paused, her quill hovered over her fresh roll of parchment. She had been sitting at her desk for over an hour, searching for the perfect words. She had been dragging her feet, pushing off the inevitable as if that would change her reality. But she could delay no more. 

Time waited for no one. 

She had to leave something for her family before her time came. She had already sorted out her will, but she wanted to leave something more personal than a sheet of paper allocating her assets and possessions.

She was lowering her quill tip once more when a sharp pain wracked her body, seizing her from the inside out. Thorns twisted mercilessly, gripping her lungs in a vice. She instinctively coughed, desperate to replenish the air that was being squeezed out of her. 

She dropped the quill, ink splattering over creamy surface in great ugly blotches. One hand grabbed at her chest in an attempt to ease her breathing while the other moved to cover her mouth - a force of habit, though proper etiquette was the least of her worries. 

When her fit subsided, she slowly removed her hand. As expected, several blood red rose petals lay in her pale palm.

_’How ironic.’_

When her grandmother told her the old legends of what happened when a Veela was rejected by her mate, she had scoffed and thought nothing of it. That couldn’t possibly happen to her! She was Fleur Delacour! She had countless suitors tripping over themselves in a bid to gain her affection, so the thought of rejection? Preposterous.

And yet the proof lay in the palm of her hand.

She stared at the petals, a slender finger reaching up to stroke the velvet texture. If they weren’t a sign of the late stages of her disease, they would have been beautiful.

A bitter tear pricked at the corner of her eye, which she immediately blinked out of existence. She refused to cry over the brown-haired girl who had defied fate and rejected their bond. The one who was causing her unimaginable pain and suffering. 

Despite that, she couldn’t bring herself to blame Hermione; not exactly. Looking back, she _had_ treated the young Gryffindor rather poorly; teasing and taunting her throughout the year she spent at Hogwarts for the tournament. But she hadn’t meant any of it! Why couldn’t the so-called ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age’ see that it was all just a poorly executed attempt to gain her attention?

Not that it mattered now; the damage was already done.

Without warning, her hand clenched into a fist. Still holding the crushed petals in her hand, she grabbed her quill and a fresh parchment, and began writing again in haste.

Time waited for no one, and Fleur was out of time.

_”If I die young, bury me in satin,_  
_Lay me down on a bed of roses”_


End file.
